They Do Not Falter: A Stone Hearts Novel Read online

  They Do Not Falter

  A Stone Hearts Novel

  C.C. Rock

  Copyright © 2021 C.C. Rock

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover illustrator: Daantje van de Vijver

  Instagram: daantjesart_

  Etsy: DaantjeArt

  For those who embrace their dark side as much as the light—read it, write it, love it, live it.

  Prologue

  Vasily Reese had been on her fair share of bad dates in her nineteen years of existence, but this one took the cake. Not only was the douche rude to the waitstaff, but tried to order for her—a salad no less—and talked about himself nonstop without giving her a moment to even nod her head or grunt that she was pretending to listen. Worst offense of all; he just said that global warming wasn’t real.

  Dear god. This was what she got for going out on a date with a social media influencer. Yes he was mega hot, but no amount of good looks made up for being a rude moron. Even if she was only looking to knock boots. Or in his case—frat boy loafers

  Strike number five.

  Their food had been set down only a few minutes before, but Vasily didn’t give a shit. She was leaving and leaving now. She wasn’t sitting through this torture a moment longer. Nor was she going to give the dude the decency of informing him of said decision.

  “Jay,” she said with false sweetness when the bastard finally stopped talking to take a bite of food and chew with his mouth open. She had to force herself to keep her nose from wrinkling in disgust. And to not snort. A j name—she should have known disaster was impending from that alone. “You’ll have to excuse me, I have to use the ladies,” she said with an apologetic smile as she rose from her chair, feeling anything but.

  Jay opened his mouthful of half chewed filet mignon to respond, but she didn’t give him a chance. Grabbing her clutch, she spun on her heel and beelined for the restrooms, grateful that they were in a hall, out of sight from the table.

  Vasily wasn’t sure if there was a back door, but from the constant flow of servers and bussers coming from there, she knew the kitchen was. She would escape through there if she had to. A bathroom window. Hell, she’d find a way to plow her way through a wall to avoid conversing with that jerk further.

  The restaurant, Mint, was only a week old and was already one of the most upscale eateries in the city. There was already a five year waitlist, and unless you had celebrity status or a shitload of money, you weren’t getting a table in the very tiny section they saved for walk-ins. It was the kind of place that Vasily loathed to go to. She would take wings and fries over some booje four course meal any day. Jay did not hold back on his bragging about his social media influencer-ing getting them a table in a day's notice.

  Vasily wove her way through the litany of tables with ease, wanting to roll her eyes at the amount of mahogany and silver flashing at her. How very unoriginal. And then there were the fancy people sitting around pristine white clothed tables adorned with crystal glasses and real silver utensils. Swathed in designer suits pressed within an inch of their lives and extravagant dresses, celebrities, politicians, community leaders, high scale criminals, and the filthy rich drank deeply and laughed high and false. Why she agreed to their date being here, Vasily had no idea. Curiosity, she supposed. She used to be a part of this lifestyle—having a father in high places did that—but not anymore.

  Despite her white satin dress that was like a second skin and her cobalt strappy stilettos, she did not fit in here. No, Vasily Reese was a hole in the wall eatery, jeans and boots kind of a girl. She hated wearing dresses, but given the locale, she didn’t have a choice. She bought the dress that morning. Luckily she had the heels from when her best friend, Lou, dragged her out shopping one time and made her buy them.

  Needing to use the facilities after all, Vasily ducked into the ladies room. It was empty, no surprise there, and remained so while she did her business. Washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror.

  Going in with the intention of getting laid, Vasily did her hair and put on makeup—out of character for her. It was a miracle if her wavy dark brown hair was left down rather than its usual messy bun on top of her head. And make up? One swipe of mascara was a chore.

  She put two braids in her hair on either side of her head and weaved their ends and the rest of her long waves into an intricate bun at the base of her neck. She only went as far as mascara and eyeliner for makeup, and a blood red lip courtesy to Lou’s pushing. Jewelry had been out of the question, not that she owned anything beyond one pair of studs that she forgot to put in most of the time.

  “You could fry a pancake on that man's ass,” her best friend had whistled at her when Vasily informed her of their date and showed her his Instagram. “Throw some fuck me pumps and whore-red on those luscious lips of yours.”

  Vasily sighed at her reflection in the mirror. She had to admit she did look good. The white dress and the red lips complimented her olive skin nicely, and the dark lines on her lids made her eyes the color of cloudy spring water—a greyish green—stand out. And her body in her outfit? Vasily was of average height and weight with a curvier lower half, slim upper half, and slightly underwhelming chest. In the dress and heels she looked tall, and the curves of her toned body—thanks to lots of running in lieu of therapy—more defined. And her ass? Lou used the word ‘voluptuous’.

  Too bad the get up was only getting thirty minutes of glory and so for the wrong people. With a grimace, Vasily popped her head out of the restroom. Not seeing Jay the Douchelord anywhere in sight, she looked up and down the hall for an exit. There was none, there hadn’t been windows in the bathroom either. Her only hope of leaving undetected were the swinging doors to the kitchen. Pushing up her handful of boobs up, Vasily sauntered over.

  It was like stepping into a busy hive when she entered. Cooks, bussers, and servers buzzed around, calling out orders, way too busy to notice her pushed up breasts she planned to utilize if necessary. When Vasily was nearly run over by a server hoisting a tray full of food for the fifth time, searching for an exit and not finding one, a line cook stepped away from his post where he was chopping vegetables.

  “Darlin,” the older man said, looking a bit irritated as he wiped his hands on his white apron, brown eyes narrowed under bushy grey brows. “You can’t be back here.” He gently took her arm and made to escort her back out to the hall “And it would be a shame if that pretty dress got food dumped on it.”

  Vasily dug in her heels. “Is there a back door I can use?” she asked, adding a bit of desperation. There was no way in hell she was going back out there, she would use every weapon in her arsenal to make sure of it.

  Though still looking annoyed, the cook grimaced. “Bad date?”

  “He said that global warming isn’t real,” she explained.

  The man sighed then turned them around, pulling her along behind him through the army of restaurant staff who didn’t bat an eye at them. “Come on.”

  Vasily smirked at his back. “You guys have only been open a week, has this happened a lot?”

  He gave her an eyeroll over his shoulder. “You’re the first of what I am sure will be many. But most of us have been in the business for a while, so this is normal.”

  “If I’d told you that he chewed with hi
s mouth open instead, would you have told me no?” she asked him once they cleared the main chaos of the kitchen and rounded a corner that had a door at the end of it. Vasily nearly jumped up and down at the sight.

  He snorted. “Revolting is right up there with idiocy, so no. I have four daughters. I may act grumpy about it, but I’m a sucker for bad dates.” He opened the door. “Do you have a ride home?” he asked, glancing up and down the litter blanketed, poorly lit alleyway. “I can walk you to the street,” he grumbled.

  Vasily wasn’t worried. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the sketchy places of her city. Compliments of having a father who was leader of one of the deadliest gangs in Luxton. Who was now rotting in jail for a crime that Vasily personally witnessed and testified to.

  “No thanks, I’m going to hail a cab.” She reached into her clutch and unearthed a twenty. “Thank you,” she said, offering it to him.

  The man slapped at her hand. “Put that away girl, or use it for your cab.” He ushered her out. “Get home safe and be careful,” he told her with one last cursory glance up and down the alley, then slammed the door shut behind her.

  Vasily laughed then exchanged the twenty for her phone. She’d call Lou and have her pick her up at the twenty-four hour diner the next block over. It would be a safe place to hide in case Jay the Douchelord decided to come looking, and she could get wings and fries.

  She was heading towards the main street, looking down at her phone, about to dial when an angry voice reverberated off of the dirty alley walls. “You bitch!”

  Ah, Jay. Talk about eating her words.

  He was thundering down the alleyway towards her like a pissed off bull, huffing and puffing in his too tight designer dress pants and white button down, ugly loafers scraping on the concrete. “You’re standing me up!” he snarled in accusation, coming before her.

  Vasily sighed. “Jay, I hope I’m not the only female to inform you of this, but you are an insufferable, ignorant, extremely rude douchebag.”

  His mouth dropped open in shock. So another female hadn’t told him that before. Shock quickly turned into bared teeth and a quivering jaw. “How dare you!”

  “You also eat like a cow. You should work on chewing with your mouth closed,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “Bitch!” he shouted.

  “You said that already. See you never, Jay.” She made to step around him, but he moved back in her way and grabbed her arm, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

  Abso-fucking-lutely not. “Get your hand off of me and get out of my way,” she warned. Looking at her clutch, she cursed inwardly. Of course she didn’t bring her knife. Tonight was supposed to be nothing but sweaty gorilla sex.

  “No. I took you out to a nice dinner that cost way more than your worth and you walked out on me,” he hissed, a bulbous vein throbbing in his forehead. Jay was a very good looking man—he was a social media fitness influencer for a reason—but right then he looked like the ugly bull he was emulating. His grip tightened into a vise. “You’re going to give me what I’m owed.”

  Vasily forced her expression into arrogance to cover up the danger alarms wailing in her entire body. She was in a shittily lit alley, far enough from the main street that no one would hear her if she screamed or called for help, not with the boisterous crowd milling about in front of the restaurant.

  Rule number one with assholes; do not show fear.

  So Vasily snorted as if she were utterly amused by this. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  Bringing Jay’s mother into this was not a good idea. Making a noise that was more animal than human, he wrapped his free hand around her throat. “Stop talking and get on your knees.”

  Rule number two, and Vasily’s favorite; nail them in the balls. Using her knee, she did so and slammed it so far and so hard that it was likely that his family jewels were knotted in his intestines.

  With a very comical ‘woomf’ sound, he released his hold on her and hunched over, clutching at his love-sack.

  Grinning from ear to ear, Vasily straightened her dress and stepped around him.

  But the organ bruising blow to her left kidney told her that the bastard had recovered quickly. Caught off guard, not braced like she had taken to being when she saw a hit coming, courtesy of her father, she went down hard onto the pavement, phone and clutch skittering away from her.

  “That was so fucking rude,” she wheezed out thanks to the strike and the pavement knocking the breath from her. If she had her knife, this motherfucker would be a pin cushion right now.

  “I’m about to get all kinds of rude, you stupid bitch,” he roared at her appearing unruffled and unafraid. Which was quite the opposite. Right then fear was sinking into her like a handful of stones in a lake. She wasn’t stupid. This guy was bigger and stronger than her, and she didn’t have a weapon other than fists and feet. “No one walks out on Jay.” He gripped her by the ankles and yanked her over the gravelly cement, scraping up her legs, arms, palms, and the front of her dress since she was on her stomach. “No one tells him no!”

  “Oh for fucks sake,” Vasily said impatiently with false bravado as she tried to roll onto her back. If she was on her back, she’d be able to hit him and have a fighting chance. If she remained on her front, she was screwed. Literally. “And he talks about himself in the third person. Strike number six!” she sing-songed.

  Jay roared, but instead of yanking at her dress like she thought he would when he moved his big body over her to straddle her, he gripped her by the hair and tore her head back.

  Vasily knew what he was about to do. “Not the face, you son son a bitch!” she yelled, then fell victim to one of the most lethal things known to man.

  Blind female rage.

  Thanks to hours of yoga, trying to find inner calm but only finding flexibility, she rolled her lower half up and smacked her heels into the back of his head. With a cry of pain, Jay let go. Vasily was ready this time. She wouldn’t let her ego fuck her over again. This guy may be stupid, but he was dangerous.

  Hands flying to the back of his head that was surely a punctured, bloody mess, Vasily used the time to spin beneath him like a log on water and throw him off of her. She kicked out at his side, making him howl and give her time to get to her feet. Grabbing up her clutch and phone, cursing at the shattered front, she sprinted away.

  She was stopped by a flying tackle. Vasily went down even harder this time, her body screaming at the impact and wounds being torn up deeper. She managed to flip this time when he straddled her again, but not quick enough to land a punch to the bastards face. He got there first. She didn’t hear or feel any bones break in her face, or the back of her skull when it slammed into concrete, but it all screamed in agony. Her ears rang, and her vision was blurred as if she was spinning in violent circles underwater. Nausea rolled through her like the first slow sludges of magma coming down the base of a volcano.

  “Fuck,” she bit out, gagging on the word. Speaking jarred her already tumulting head.

  “Yeah,” Jay growled, she assumed from an inch away from her face. Her vision was too blurry for her to know for sure, but the smell of his over-applied cologne cloying up her nostrils and the feel of his hot breath on her skin hinted at such. “Time for that.”

  Vasily screamed inwardly at the panic clawing up her throat, trying to render her limbs useless. She would not be afraid—she would be murderous. So ignoring her still ruined vision and spinning head, she beat at the bastard with all she had.

  To which she was rewarded with a slap across her face that cracked so loudly that it echoed off of the alleyway’s walls like a ping pong ball.

  Fuck. fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Her vision was totally grey now, dotted with black specks that were rapidly growing into splotches that would soon take over her sight entirely. If she fell unconscious, she was worse than dead.

  So death it was.

  Jay had a wee bit of an anger problem. Most likely due to steroid use if his
too big muscles and ball sack hitting quick recovery time were any indication. All she had to do was keep insulting him.

  “Is this the only way that you can get laid?” she rasped out with a chafing laugh. “When the woman is unconscious?”

  She couldn’t see Jay’s face, but she felt his hand wrap around her throat, squeezing so hard it was a miracle her neck didn’t snap.

  She clawed at his fingers, trying to pry a little room so she could throw the next insult. “You,” she rasped. “Fight.” Cough. “Like a girl.”

  Such a horribly antifeminist thing to say—women fought way harder, way dirtier, and way more brilliantly than men—but she knew what the comment would do to this misogynist.

  Jay roared so loudly that her eardrums stung. She knew what was coming next when he released her throat. She was going to be beaten to death, her face caved in most likely.

  But the blows never came.

  Instead, the pressure on her body that was Jay the Douchelord was suddenly gone, and his roaring was replaced with a singular shout of alarm from him, a loud thud, and crashing trash cans.

  Had the line cook come to her rescue? Someone else? Hopefully they weren’t there to pick up where Jay had left off.

  Head swimming, Vasily managed to sit up. She did so slowly, but vomit threatened to spew from her nonetheless. After taking a few deep breaths, the nausea subsided. Now she just needed for her vision to clear. She was just beginning to panic that she’d gone blind when she realized that she was a moron and her eyes were screwed shut.

  Vasily opened her eyes with a struggle. They were practically glued shut from the tears she hadn’t known she’d shedded and her stupid mascara.

  She shrieked and jerked back when the initial blurriness and grey patches dissolved. Crouched before her, his face mere inches from hers, was a man.

  Jerking back like that was a mistake. It made her brain bang around in her skull like one of those springy door things. Vasily was aware she was falling backwards, but it couldn’t be helped. Eyes fluttering, it was as if her descent that was likely to knock her out was in slow motion.